Well Enough Alone
by freak at the end of the street
Summary: Arcee meant to confront him again, possibly vent her frustrations, but nothing ever works out that way. Post Hurt.


**…**

**well enough alone**  
**by**  
**freak at the end of the street**

**…**

**warning;** Spoilers for "Hurt", and possible 'cursing' is present. Characters may also be mildly out of character.  
**characters;** Wheeljack, Arcee. Mentions Bulkhead.  
**author's note; **I don't know where this came from, but I could stop myself from writing it. Arcee's reaction to the Wheeljack and Miko's return irked me a bit, so this had to be written. It's just a short piece that probably won't make much sense. Reviews? Tell me what you think and how you think I can improve. You don't even have to sugar coat it for me. Before you ask, the rating is T for confusion; it doesn't actually have violence and death, but it mentions it? I don't know. I'm not great with these ratings so I went with the safest bet.

**…**

Arcee found herself walking out of well hidden base into the cool night air, sights turning to the starry skies momentarily before flickering back to the idle ship parked between the cliffs. She felt a stir in her spark, a feeling of regret for her actions yet anger that he dared stay despite abandoning the child and his so-called friend when things got rough. She had angry at the time, even cursed him upon his leave, and still didn't feel all that calm.

So she marched towards the parked ship. She frowned deeply as stones turned to dust under her feet with each step, making a soft crunching noise. She made no secret to her approach by attempting to hide the sound and even ground her heel in the rocky dirt upon standing at the door. It was a bit of a shock when the entrance dropped down without any trouble. She idly wondered just why it had done that but wrote it off as the explosion expert thinking of the little girl, who was still seated on her guardian's chest. Part of the reason Arcee had left the base in the first place.

Stepping into the dimly lit ship, Arcee was wary and scanned over the interior. She stopped dead upon seeing the Wrecker, who was knelt down on a box and appeared to be attempting repairs on his battered frame. It was his dimmed optical sensors and unsteady servos that caught her attention the most. She even notice a slight tremble of his shoulders, either from the pain of repairs or the entirety of the situation.

Her lean body stiffened, "Wheeljack," she called out without realising it. She could have very well slapped herself for it after.

The Wrecker's helm lifted and turned, staring right at the blue motorcycle. His blast mask parted to reveal a grimace and the tools he'd been working with were lowered. He nodded dully in her direction, "What?"

What a simple question and the femme couldn't really find her vocal processor to reply. She just stood there, watching the wounded warrior, scarred and battered from vorns of battlefields in a civil war that she too fought. Strange, it all seemed so strange from his normal behaviour and she lost her nerve to lash out at. The nerve to scold him for still being here after the little display in the base.

"If you're just going to stand there, at least look good doing it," he added, a bit softer than he probably intended.

It was then that it hit her. How many of the Wrecker were still online, still functioned? How many did he see offline? The Wreckers had always been the unit to call when the odds of success were slim, which led them to burn through their ranks easily. She vaguely remembered Bulkhead's stories of his short time with them, his connect to Wheeljack, and it was enough for her to acknowledge he trauma that Wheeljack had probably felt.

Bulkhead had been his friend, probably his best friend, and frankly the unit had always been stubborn and prone to hiding anything that wasn't 'kicking tailpipe' attitude. Grieving, worrying, and the like were not something they were to display openly. Wheeljack had retreated to his ship to work out the fear and concern, probably the utter sadness like he'd always had.

And despite this, Arcee blurted out, "Do you need some help?"

"No," he replied and turned his full attention to his wounds, "been handling this slag all my cycles."

She knew he was more than likely right, as the Wreckers did not have medics. There were no need for them, but it didn't stop her from trying. "All right, but... we've got a-"

"-don't worry about me," he interrupted, a bit of venom in his tone.

She found herself scowling, "no one said I was worried," she retorted.

"Guess you're right," he mused lightly.

"I'm going," she said, turning and heading towards the exit. However, when he just hummed after her, sounding a bit too much like her, she stopped. Something in her snapped in that split second,. Her shoulders lifted and optical sensors dimmed. She didn't so much as glance at him as she added, "He's going to be okay. He's stable now, and even if he doesn't return to full function, he's still part of the team. We're not going to throw him away."

Wheeljack's tool powered down and the air was too quiet. Arcee waited, just to see if he was going to say anything, but when he didn't she trekked down the ramp.

_"But he will throw himself away."_

She heard it clear as day when she reached the rocky dirt and stopped. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Wheeljack staring at her, but the ramp was already lifting and closing up the ship. A part of her wanted to stroll right up there, she could make the jump easily, and give him the reassurance that he needed. However, another part knew he wouldn't allow it, probably didn't even know that his thoughts had slipped through his vocal processor.

She only watched, which was becoming a habit she noted, as the ship closed up. She even stood there, staring, for a few kliks before she turned and walked the few feet back to the base. The cliff opened up and she stepped inside the long tunnel, only to turn and lean against the rock-face.


End file.
